


my only working remedy

by kay_emm_gee



Series: the kids aren't alright (The 100 tumblr prompts) [116]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, The 100 (TV) Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29469897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: Clarke had just finished helping Monroe haul wood to the smokehouse when she noticed Bellamy. Or rather, she noticed the large bruise that covered half of his cheek.{Prompt: Hurt/comfort Bellarke where he got hurt doing something absolutely stupid (getting in a fight or smth) and she is mad tilting his bruised face to herself and huffing angrily in the season 1 verse}
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: the kids aren't alright (The 100 tumblr prompts) [116]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/231390
Comments: 3
Kudos: 97





	my only working remedy

Clarke had just finished helping Monroe haul wood to the smokehouse when she noticed Bellamy. Or rather, she noticed the large bruise that covered half of his cheek. Sighing, she straightened her shoulders and headed for him.

He and two other delinquents were just securing a repaired section of the wall into place when she reached him. Hands on her hips, she watched him bang on it with his fist twice to make sure it was stable. _Always double checking,_ she thought to herself amusedly. For all that he came off hotheaded and impulsive, she had by now realized he was thoughtful and concerned more than he let on. So when he turned, Clarke was not surprised to see a barely-there grin of satisfaction at a job well done on his face.

That grin dropped as soon as he spotted her, however.

“Bellamy,” she said evenly, lips pursed. “You should have come to see me about that.” She gestured to his bruised cheek.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered.

Clarke just barely held back from rolling her eyes at his stubborn tone. As she watched his jaw work, she glanced pointedly at the two teenagers helping him. They scampered off, clearly not needing verbal indication that they should get lost. The entire camp had witnessed enough of her and Bellamy’s standoffs by now to know that it was best to evacuate the area, lest they be caught in the crossfire.

“It’s not nothing,” she argued. “And you know the rule: anyone gets injured, they come to me. Most bumps and scrapes I can fix if I get to them early, but complications from untreated injuries...those aren’t something I can easily fix.”

“What are you going to do about a bruise?” He shot back as he gathered several of the tools the others had left behind. “It’s not like we have cooling gel down here. And besides, it doesn’t hurt.”

Clarke rolled her eyes at the obvious lie. “No, but I do have a needle and thread to stitch up that oozing cut on your cheekbone. Do you want that to get infected? Because at the rate you’re going, it will.” She glanced pointedly at his dirt-streaked...well, everything. “And do you know what we don’t have down here besides cooling gel? Antibiotics. So you are coming with me.”

Bellamy just snorted derisively and turned to walk away. She darted into his path, staring up at him. He glared back, then tried to push past her. Clarke was too fast for him though. She grabbed his arm and yanked him back close to her.

“Infections can turn nasty, Bellamy. I’ve seen it before in the clinic on the Ark. Do you want to risk it? And leave Octavia on her own if it does turn bad? If you’re that scared of a little needle…” She feigned a dismissive huff, shook her head, and then waited.

His eyes flashed with outrage, but he didn’t counter her argument. And when she felt the muscles beneath her hand relax, she knew she had won. Suppressing a relieved sigh, Clarke dropped his arm and headed for the dropship. Bellamy followed, though she could feel him glaring daggers at her back the whole way.

She gestured for him to sit when they reached the corner of the first floor that she had claimed for her medical treatment area. Bellamy plopped down on a makeshift stool without a word, but Clarke didn’t miss the way his shoulders drooped, as if in relief for the break. Frowning, she cast surreptitious glances at him as she gathered the necessary materials to treat the cut. He seemed more exhausted than usual. They all needed more rest and less worry, but she knew that was even more true for Bellamy. He took on too much. She knew it. Everyone knew it. But they also knew that he wouldn’t stop, and if Clarke was being honest, she knew they might not make it if he did.

Clearing her thoughts, she moved to his side. After rinsing her hands with moonshine, she took Bellamy’s chin firmly in her hands and tipped his left cheek up to examine it. She sucked in a breath as the harsh white light illuminated what turned out to be a very nasty bruise. It looked so much worse than it had outside in the light of the setting sun.

“How’d you get this?” She asked as she released his chin.

He glanced sideways at her, then muttered. “Does it matter how I got it?”

Clarke rolled her eyes. _So stubborn and closed off, always._

“This is going to sting,” she said curtly, pressing a moonshine-soaked rag to the open cut.

Bellamy twitched and hissed, but he didn’t pull away. She dabbed at the wound a few more times before reaching for the threaded needle. She sterilized it once more, then began stitching. He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply at the first push and pull of the needle. Not for the first time, she wished she had some type of local anesthetic. She braced herself for him to flinch as she kept stitching, but he didn’t move a muscle. Clarke was grateful, because it made her work go easier and faster, but she knew it had to hurt like hell.

“Try to keep it clean,” she warned once she had finished. “And I’ll take them out once it looks like it’s healing up. If it feels hot to the touch or is leaking pus or blood, come to me.”

He stood, and she didn’t miss his eye roll.

“I’m serious, Bellamy,” she snapped.

“When are you not serious, princess?” His grin was mocking and razor-sharp as he turned away from her.

Anger bubbled up in her gut at his cavalier attitude. She threw the used rags back into the bucket so hard that moonshine sloshed over the edge.

“Do you think this is a joke? That what I’m doing here is that superfluous?” She shouted. “I may not be standing on that wall of yours with a gun, or going out to hunt for meat, but I am also working to keep us safe. To keep us alive. To keep _you_ alive, because we both know what will happen to all of them if something happens to you! And I can’t...we can’t...”

A hollow quiet filled the dropship once her shouts stopped echoing off the metal walls. Taking in a shaky breath, she murmured softly, “Do you trust me so little?”

Bellamy just watched her with an intense expression. He seemed taken aback, and she just stood there, hands on her hips, glaring at him with her stomach rolling. The moment stretched, and she felt heat rising from her neck onto her cheeks. She didn’t need his approval, never would, but here she was, still waiting for him to say something, anything.

“We need you,” he finally said, voice low and rough but also sincere. “I know it, and they know it. And I do...trust you.”

He gave her a curt nod, then strode towards the exit. Clarke sighed, then plopped onto the stool he had just vacated, both embarrassed at her outburst and relieved at his reassurance. She was wiping her damp hands on her thighs when she heard his footsteps stop.

“Clarke.”

She glanced up. Bellamy had stopped in the doorway and turned back to face her.

“If anything feels off with this,” he gestured to his face, “I’ll come back.” He paused, then gruffly said, “And thanks for the stitches.”

She smiled wanly at him. “Anytime. And try not to stop a fist with your face again.”

He rolled his eyes and let out a snort. “I make no promises.”

She let out a laugh under her breath as he walked down the ramp back into camp. That was the best she could hope for, she supposed. Nothing was guaranteed on the ground, but somehow, in this moment, Clarke was starting to feel a bit less like the earth was constantly shifting under her feet.


End file.
